THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON BAILEY.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1164, 22 June 1894, Page 9

THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON BAILEY.

His day's work done, Mr Bailey was enjoying a quiet smoke at the door of the inn of the little drowsy village where he rosided for the greater part of the year. m With his hands in his pockets and his hat tipped over his eyes, he leaned indolently, with stooping shoulders, against the wall, blowing the smoke out of his mouth in gentle whifEs.° He was a little man, much bent by reason of the heavy box that rested on his shoulders as he travelled from place to place through the country, for he was a pedlar by profession. His eyes were bright, and small and puckered ; his nose long and sharp and turned up at the point; and his whole face was shaved once a week. Summer and winter he wore an old overcoat which covered his knees, and an even older hat, which generally rested on the back of his headsave, as now, when he took his ease at the door of his inn. . 11 And how is Mr Bailey this evening 7 asked a respectable looking tradesman, the village joiner and undertaker, who had sauntered up to the pedlar without attracting his attention. " Not half as well as I would like, anewcrod Ihe pedlar, sharply, taking the pipe out of his mouth and peering up at his questioner with twinkling eyes. " It will be a happy day for ould Bailey, Mr Mackay, when them that calls themselves his friends is drinking over his corps wid the candleu shining bright. But if I could put pisen in their drink I would do it. Not that I'd grudge them tke liquor, but I hate the hypocrisy." 41 Dinna start on one o' yer senseless blethers," interposed Mr Mackay, calmly, as he proceeded to cut down some tobacco into his hand. " Uaven't they called me a miser, and counted me money for me; me that hasn't two gold pieces to rub against each other ? Ugh ! The blackguards 1' " Awed," said Mr Mackay, leisurely setting a match to his pipe, and with suckedin cheeks looking sideways at the pedlar, •« I'd never let that fash me whether it's true or not." - , , "But wouldn't it make even a donkey kick up his heels to hear ignorant persons insalivating that he was fed on good oats when ho knew better than anyone that there was nothing but thistles in his belly ? But it's myself can tell what s in your mind, Mr Mackay, Ye're thinking that I'm an ould miser and a liar into the bargain.'' *« Nae sich thing," said Mr Mackay. * But to come to the pint, pedlar, yer coffin's finished and ye can have it any time ye likes, double bottom and a*. And I'd be obliged to ye if ye'll just tell one what ye're wanting a coffin with a double bottom for. I never made a coffin for a living corp before, and X»H bo d d before I do it again. I'm no 4rare but it's sacrilege." •« What did I want the coffin for ?" cried the pedlar shrilly. »■ Why, to be buried in, av coorsc. I'll be buried in my own coffin, sez I, if I can't be buried at my own expense. For, share, he's not a pauper that purvides his own coffin. And if I had died widout purviding my own coffin, wouldn't the parish have taken everything it could lay its hands on, and buried me like a pauper just the came ? And didn't ye make the coffin a trifle cheaper in consideration of the fact that ye might die before me? Bedad, 1 ve made a bargain out av the whole concern, "There's no doubt but that ye've got the coffin dirt cheap/' said Mr Mackay, thought-

fully. " But what about the double bottom ? That I can not understand, Mr Bailey." " And to tell yez the truth, Mr Mackay, no more can I," said the pedlar meekly, j "Slnire, shure, the idea is comical enough : and it's ycrself can make it appear so," •• I'll no' believe, however, but that ye've some reason in yer head for it." " Then it's myself won't tell ye, Mr Mackay," said the pedlar irritably. " But I'l help to carry the coffin home now, if it's all the same to you V Mr Mackay had no objection, but very sensibly proposed that the pedlar should first stand a drink in honour of the occasion. To this Mr Bailey reluctantly consented, and they passed through the open door of the inn, tha pedlar a little in the rear with his hands deep in his pockets. Now, as Mr Mackay drank his glass of whisky, this is what he said to himself : 11 He's a deep body, the pedlar, but Sandy Mackay can see to the bottom o' him ; ay, double bottom and a'. He's going to be buried wi' his money beneath him. Dod 1 If I can only baud my tongue, I'll be a rich man yet." Mr Bailey's thoughts ran in a similar groove, but reached a different conclusion—- *' Ugh ! the blood sucking thief. He'll scrape me out av the bowels of the earth ; and it's twice I'll be-buried, and no rest to my bones at all, at all. Blessed be God, there is life in me yet. and sense enough to lead Sandy Mackay the prettiest dance he ever had, the dirty blackguard that he is." So these two drank their whisky, pie iging each other amicably. Some months afterwards Mr Bailey was observed entering the village towards sunset with tottering legs, and the blue, withered look of a man marked for death. He had been away for almost a week, and no one had known anything of his whereabouts. And now speculation became rife as to what his errand had been. But Bailey was beyond caring for these things ; he had shut his door upon the world and was lain down to die. The coffin in which he to be buried peeped from under the bed gruesomely, but the pedlar liked to know that it was there. One evening Mr Mackay called, not without some misgiving that he should arouse evil misapprehensions in the pedlar's mind as to the true motives of the visit. Mr Mackay honestly desired to avoid all mention of the coffin, but the pedlar would not consent to that.

" iMy coffin's ready for me, Mr Mackay ; double soled to keep out the wet." •• It's as bonny a coffin as evor I've made," responded the undertaker in a voice that wa3 intended to denote an honest and singleminded devotion to his art. "And the fact of the matter is, Mr Bailey, I'm that pleased with that idea o' yours that I'm making all my coffins now with double bottoms."

" Ye're a damned liar," said the pedlar, so promptly that Mr Mackay was considerably taken aback. "And you're just waiting till the breath's out of me body to find out what I've hidden there. Now will ye take my word for it, Mr Mackay, that there's nothing under the double bottom ?"

" Sich a thought never entered my head till this moment," replied the undertaker, with honest indignation. " But that comes o' doing a friendly thing. Ye canna be supposed to be disinterested." The pedlar laughed till he gasped so that Mr Mackay was frightened that the end was near.

"But ye'll never mention about the double bottom to anyone," whispered Mr Bailey after the fit had passed. u That's between ourselves, pedlar," said Mr Mackay, solemnly. "It is a secret that will be buried with yourself. I think ye may trust me as far as that. I ken the folk about here ower weel to let them get a grip o' a story o' that kind. They'd howk ye out o' yer grave without the least compunction ; and that's as true as death."

The pedlar's eyes had become glazed, and and his fingers were playing with the bedclothes.

" Put me in my coffin and let no man move me," he said, in a voice so strange that Mr Mackay did not recognise it. "Go away, go away, big black crow. I'm not. dead yet; d'ye hear ? I m not dead yet. Would ye be for robbing my corp ?" The undertaker drew back in terror, and with a last lingering look at the coffin that stood by the bedside a 3 if waiting for the pedlar to fall into it, crept out of the room on tiptoe. That samo evening Mr Bailey died. The parish doctor visited the house heard the story of the coffin from Mr Mackay, who did not think it necessary, however, to make mention of the double bottom, which the undertaker noticed had been firmly screwed down. The funeral was appointei for the following day, and Mr Mackay carried in his pocket the key of the dead man's house. That night when everyone in the village was in bed the undertaker made his way cautiously along the si:ent street. He carried in his one hand an unlit lantern, while his other clasped firmly the screw-driver in his pocket. Arrive lat the house where the deal man lay he noiselessly opened the door and locked it behind him. Having lit the lantern, he placed it on the floor at his side, and, without a moment's hesitation, proceeded to lift the pedlar out of his coffin. Mr Mackay trembled, not from fear, but with excitement, as he began to unscrew the double bottom, and when at last he lifted it oat his heart was beating audibly. But instead of finding a mass of gold as he had expected, there was nothing visible but a slip of paper. Holding it close to the lantern he read as fol lows :

" You need not look anywhere for my gould, Sandy Mackay, for I've sent it all away to the Bank of England. I guv a wrong name and I havo burned the receipt, and so there it will stay till the Judgment Day, and that's rhyme. There is more gould in the Bank of England than in all the world beside. 0, it's the wonderful safe place for gould, with soldiers night and day to purtect it. I am sartin that you will read this, Mr Mackay. and it's the truth I'm telling yer when I say that yer a dirty blackguard.—Solomon Bailey." "1 never kenned his name was Solomon tiU this meenit " was all the undertaker felt capable of saying.—Bv Alexander Stuart in